


Rainbow Fish

by MxPseudonym



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is "that" boss, Secretary to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxPseudonym/pseuds/MxPseudonym
Summary: "I do hope you know how invaluable you are."“Oh, thank you. And here I thought I was just a goldfish,” I laughed. Mr. Holmes looked down at me with intense, darkened blue eyes.“So did I,” he said.--After a hard recruitment process, Anthea finally finds Mycroft Holmes the perfect assistant.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Original Character, Mycroft Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Mycroft Holmes/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time comin', but here we are. A little Mycroft and his Personal Assistant action for the lovebirds out there.

I felt surprisingly clearheaded and calm as my heels clicked against the tile floors in the central London government training facility. It had been years since I had a first day of work. Back then, I was just grateful that someone had taken a chance on me, and I could work one job instead of three. This time was different. I had been  _ recruited.  _ And by "recruited," I meant plucked out of my 9 to 5 job at Hawthorne and Downing Law Practice and into a mystery position I wasn't privileged enough to know the details about yet. 

Just three months ago, I was prepping the large, prestigious, and professional H & D conference rooms for the quarterly board meeting. My boss, Mr. Hawthorne, was a product of nepotism and nothing like what our offices' images tried to portray. Though his grandfather gave him more responsibility to sharpen him up, in the six years I worked for Mr. Hawthorne, he only proved to be a 165 cm miser with an inappropriately massive ego. Up until my very last day, he still called me "Janet." She was the secretary of another lawyer he was having an affair with. 

I would still be there if it hadn't been for our two guests that day: a Lady Smallwood and Anthea Neilson. They were consultants who would oversee an international merger. I was solely focused on Mr. Hawthorne, who once again insisted on martinis for lunch, however. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. I made sure everything was running smoothly from the water glasses on the table to the German company Skyping in. And yet, the following Saturday, Lady Smallwood bumped into me at my local coffee shop. Her expensive red coat and designer heels in my casual walking neighborhood let me know it was no accident. 

"Listen, dear. Positions at companies that are about to be bought and sold for parts come and go, but the government is forever. We have a position that's been hard to fill," Lady Smallwood said before sipping a black coffee and grimacing. "The woman I was with, Anthea, she said you'd fit the role quite nicely." 

"Thank you, Lady Smallwood, but I'm not actually looking for a job right now," I told her. 

As I walked away after thanking her again, I wondered if I'd made a mistake. The same way people found their callings in art or teaching, I found mine in being an assistant. Being responsible for helping someone breathe easier lit me up inside. Plus, I was good at it. But, it wasn't a secret that my job was unnecessarily exhausting, had no room for growth, and left me in a constant state of testing my patience. Perhaps it  _ was  _ time to move on. But to the government? Not the move I was interested in.

Luckily, or unluckily, for me, Lady Smallwood took my declines as impressive negotiating skills. She countered until I couldn't say no to a signing bonus that was more money than I'd made some years working at restaurant jobs full time. 

"Anthea wants  _ you _ ," was all she said. 

The human personality trait of enjoying being fought for took over. I signed a nondisclosure form and acceptance contract, then found myself in the crowded training building for my first day in no time. 

"I'm early," I noted, then looked wistfully at the coffee hut in the middle of the lobby. I'd been too excited to eat, and drinking caffeine on an empty stomach was terrible. But I could smell the fresh grounds from where I stood. I rechecked my watch. Early, but not early enough to make it through the growing queue for a latte. 

"So she did get you." 

"Oh!" I turned quickly, almost bumping into a tall, familiar brunette who wore an expensive gray suit and a smug smile. 

"Careful now," Anthea said, catching my elbow. She was so beautiful. Did I have to be that beautiful? 

"Well, Lady Smallwood certainly knows how to play hardball. I'll give her that much," I finally found my voice and clasped my hands together in gratitude. "Either way, thank you for the opportunity, Anthea." 

"Hold that thank you for later, you're not in yet. Let's walk and talk."

I followed Anthea and her signature smirk to the 11th floor. There was an orientation of sorts, and a group of newcomers was mingling in a conference room already. 

"You'll start out here. I'll be honest; much of this will be reviewing things you already know about working in an office. But,"

"It's your way of testing other things, right? Like trustworthiness and confidentiality?" I asked, looking around already. Anthea grinned at me, satisfaction evident in her face.

"I knew I liked you."

Despite Anthea's warning, I couldn't help but get excited. I was a bit obsessed with office work, even if it was a cover-up for testing and honing our other skills for a few weeks. There was something about making a machine run smoothly with some thoughtfulness, a touch of color-coding, and a whole lot of clarifying emails that made my heart flutter. I liked to believe you could come to prepare for just about anything, even the unexpected. 

"I will make a success of this," I told myself on my walk from the train station. After a few weeks in training, I decided to take varying routes back to my townhouse flat in an effort to be inconspicuous. I'd even offered Marigold and Linda, my two lovely old landlords who'd been recently married, to pay for electronic door knobs with fobs and a digital keypad. They were surprisingly alright with the whole thing, even though we had to repeat the handyman's lesson on how to use it a few times. Was I overdoing it? Who could say? Nevertheless, I was home.

"Evening, dear," Marigold greeted me from her place at the mailbox. 

"Hello, Mari, how are ya," I asked, checking my mail as well. 

"Linda's cranky lately with her new medication, so what can I do?" She rolled her eyes but laughed. "How are you, love? How are the Pitbulls? Not causing you problems?" 

"None at all, they're perfect sweethearts. I'm telling you, they get a bad reputation for being devils, but they are rather peaceful," I told her. 

What started as something to do because I was bored turned into me fostering dogs regularly from my local shelter. Usually, Marigold had no problem with this, but she'd been wary of the Pitbull twins that I didn't have the heart to split up. I knew a bit of training was all it would take to get them adopted.

"Sure thing, dear," said Mari, not a convincing word to be found. She asked me about my day, and I thought back to my many lectures on confidentiality. 

"Just the usual secretary things," I said with a shrug. 

"And yet you have a bit of a glow about you lately. I just wondered if there was a certain someone," Mari hummed, turning before I could rebuttal. "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight."

It was a blessing in disguise really, if she told Linda I was home, I'd be stuck in the hallway chatting half the night. Instead, I was leaving my shoes at the door and making quick work of my stockings so I could give every bit of adoration to my bundles of energy bouncing around their kennels.

"Oliver and Olivia, my angels," I gushed at them over their whimpers. Mari's comment floated into my mind. First, it made me laugh. A good job is just as good as a partner. But then as a point of concern.  _ Was _ a good job as good as a partner? 

"I know you're all I need, but sometimes I want things like intimacy," I consulted the canines before me. In response, they did cover my legs and arms with kisses, which was an excellent counterpoint. To test the theory further, I changed into my casual clothes for a date- our nightly walk around the neighborhood. At this point, I had mapped my area in every way I could think of, including by which trees the dogs liked best. Maybe I was overdoing it with the spy shit. 

"That was the best date I've been on since yesterday's date. Never gets old," I admitted when we got home. Two thorough belly rubs sealed the deal. "Much more agreeable than dating."

Still, I gave myself a good once over after my shower. I had my father's dark eyes and nose, my mother's kinky, curly hair, and brown skin from both. I was a good match for a lovely partner, I thought while pinching my cheeks. Yes indeed. 

After two months, I earned the privilege of knowing who exactly I was working for. Along with my badge, a phone, and a name, I was given my assignment.

"Your employer's name is Mycroft Holmes. Are you familiar with him?" Anthea asked as we left a small cafe with our lunch and walked towards my mystery employer's office. It was completely different than the training facilities. The brown building was in an almost residential area with trees lining the street. It was just off the main road, but you'd need to know what you were looking for to find it. Best of all, it had an excellent cafe within walking distance. 

"I'm not. Should I be?" I wondered, trying to think of anything I saw in the news. "I've only heard a few things around the office about Mr. Holmes being a bit… stern. And he's got eyes in the back of his head."

"If he was a celebrity, we'd really be in for it, so it's good you don't know him. We, you included now, go to great lengths to keep him under the radar," Anthea said. "I suppose I'll tell you now so you can wrap your head around it. You aren't my second in command; you're replacing me as Mr. Holmes's personal assistant."

"What?" I gasped, almost hurt that I wouldn't be working with her anymore. Why such a last-minute change? While I got accustomed to pacing and the data system, Anthea became a mentor for me. Some would call her frigid or standoffish, mostly the men she'd turned down for dates. But I thought she was an inspiration for efficiency and how to carry oneself. I wanted to know everything, and I wanted to make a good addition. 

Anthea smirked and rolled her eyes. 

"Don't flatter me, Elise. Save it for Mr. Holmes. He got in at noon, so you'll meet him when we get back. They call him the Ice Man, but there's nothing to worry about."

It was the big day. I made sure I was wearing my favorite clothes- a dark green pencil skirt and green blouse that looked lovely against my deep brown skin. Anthea suggested the comfortable heels I chose, but my low bun hairstyle and rose-colored lipstick were my ideas. Now I just needed to stand tall with confident thoughts.

"Is his brother really that crazy detective from the news?" I asked as we arrived. She nodded but gave me a look of warning.

"Do not mention his brother. It's a sore spot."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you ready to meet him?" Anthea asked as we were on the lift to the top floor. 

"As ready as I can be, I suppose." I took a deep breath when the doors opened, and we walked into the large, well-secured office suite. 

"As I mentioned, this is his main London office and where you will do your desk work. He has another office at the Diogenes Club that he frequents that you'll go to soon enough," said Anthea. She was already leading me to the tea station. "He's just got back from his meeting, so he's in. We'll bring him his tea and his diary. Don't expect any smiles or niceties, hm?" 

I made the tray, and she told me what to look out for—tea on the left-hand side with sugar and a bit of milk. The newspaper went on the right, along with the mail. I tucked a padfolio under my arm and picked up the tray. I nodded then took a deep breath. 

"Okay, I'm ready." 

Anthea whipped out her phone and sent a text. After a moment, she motioned for me to follow her. She rapped on the solid wood door and pulled it open.

"Mr. Holmes, this is your new PA, Elise Addison," Anthea introduced me. 

I stepped into the room and took a split second to take it all in. 

It was regal in a sense- floor to floor light carpeting, red curtains on the large windows on one wall, and the bay window behind the desk. Oh, and the desk, along with every other piece of furniture, was a deep cherry wood, no doubt antiques taken excellent care of. Exquisite.

The decor was the most interesting, though. There was a suit of armor complete with a large sword in the corner of the room near the desk and large portraits of royalty and some figures you didn't recognize. But ultimately, this office could have belonged to anyone. There were no personal effects. That is, except for him. Mycroft Holmes sat at the helm of it all, looking me over with a tight smile. 

I had from the door to the credenza to take him in- ginger hair, blue eyes, clean-shaven, well-pressed suit, stern face. He was going to be a joy, I was sure.

"Hello, Sir. Happy to be here," I greeted him, and he nodded. 

"Hello," he said. His voice wasn't profound; it was posh and to the point. I first placed the tray on the credenza, then sat a few documents in front of him. 

"What is this?" He almost sounded disgruntled. He looked at the three copies of his daily diary. 

"Options, Sir. These schedule styles have been proven to be the most efficient to view. Anthea mentioned you wanted hard copies now. I will continue with whichever you prefer most." I stood beside his desk, waiting for the verdict. He looked to Anthea, tweaked an eyebrow, and chose one, handing me back his least favorite. "Excellent choice." 

"I have a meeting now," he said. It wasn't a direction per se, but the order was there.  _ Get out.  _

"That was good," Anthea told me quietly after closing the office door when we left. It was a relief to hear. She showed me where things were and finally motioned to my desk. It was spotless and empty. "There's a clean desk policy. Mr. Holmes's office needs to remain a secure fortress." 

"Of course." 

"Alright, Elise. I'll be wrapping things up in other departments and stopping in from time to time, but think of this as me handing you the reigns. You can go do what you do best." 

I wanted to hug her, but it didn't seem appropriate. I shook her hand and wished her luck on the new marriage instead. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh, it's just I assumed you were getting married because you always take a ring off before you start working, and now you're leaving," I explained while motioning to the tan line of her finger. That aside, I finally got to ask the question that lingered in the back of my mind. "Why did you make Lady Smallwood work so hard to get me?" Anthea smiled in thought before answering. 

"That day at the board meeting, your boss was a mess. Fidgety, nervous, clearly hungover. But every time he was about to fudge it, you saved him before he realized he needed saving. I wouldn't be surprised if you made that presentation yourself." 

"I did," I grumbled my confirmation as I thought back to that day. 

"See? You have a fluid disposition about you, and a calm I think I couldn't quite give to Mr. Holmes. Anyway, you'll do excellent." 

She sent me along with her blessing, and we parted ways at the end of her last day. Just as I sat down and pulled up emails, I got a text to my blackberry.

_ Come in. -MH _

Of course, he already had my number. I quickly secured my computer and made my way to the door, a notepad in hand. With a gentle courtesy knock, I let myself into the office and was guided to a seat in front of Mr. Holmes's desk. He looked me over, and I did everything I could to not fidget in the stillness of his office. 

"I'm sure Anthea has filled you in on everything," Mr. Holmes said. It was never much of a question with him, just a conclusion he'd come to that I had the chance to confirm or deny. 

"She did, Sir, but I would like to hear what you may have to add," I told him, pulling out my pin from the binding of my notepad. 

Learning about my employer was my favorite part. Even though I didn't often hear a genuine "thank you" from Mr. Hawthorne, it still brought me a special kind of joy to have his favorite pen ready before he asked or having a better-edited copy of a speech on hand.

"Just know this, Miss Addison. Everything you see, hear, and do at work is classified. There is no water cooler talk or chats about work at the pub. Do you understand," he asked, and I nodded while jotting down a few words.

"Yes, Sir."

"I expect you to be punctual and communicative. You should be able to be reached at any time." He watched me nod and write down a few more things. "You will be at my side during meetings. You'll go on the occasional trip with me, and you will, at times, take my place when needed."

"I understand, Sir. And do you prefer I not speak?" I asked. It wasn't sarcastic at all. At H & D, silence was my preferred state. Mr.Holmes paused at my question, narrowing his eyes a bit. "It's alright if you don't."

"I know it's alright," he said definitively. He sounded frustrated, but not necessarily at me, which was good. "I don't need a mute lapdog, Miss Addison. I need someone who will perform admirably," he said. 

I nodded and made a quick note, which he easily read upside down from across his desk. It was the first faint emotion I saw on him since arriving, the faintest hint of a smile that came across his face. 

"Did you write 'free to speak?"

"Yes," I said, feeling my cheeks warm. That was going to happen a lot, I could tell. 

That night I slipped into my pajamas and curled up with the dogs, leftover pot pie, and a Korean TV drama. They were just better, and I was so close to watching the shows without subtitles. When I was satisfied with a good tv ending and a full belly, I patted the dogs again before putting them in their kennels. 

"Today was interesting, darlings. I think I'm in for an adventure." 


	2. Chapter 2

I have to say that, though I'm a quick learner, I certainly couldn't have prepared myself for this. 

Every job has a learning curve, but I thought Anthea was exaggerating for my benefit when she said I'd feel like a fish out of water for the first 18 months of work. If I got the hang of it sooner, I'd be elated. However, due to my subconscious or high standards, I felt like a baby deer that took a year and a half to find its balance. When I could stand on my own feet, though, I'd never felt more proud of myself. Not to mention, I was becoming quite fond of Mycroft Holmes. 

Mr. Holmes was the highest member of the government I had ever met, and I couldn't think of anyone above him but the queen. Sure some people seemed more critical like the Prime Minister. Still, the PM didn't send one-word text messages that sent entire fleets of highly trained agents into action. 

Mr. Holmes wasn't very warm or incredibly emotive, but he was so sharp. He knew things without any exchange of words. When his meetings were over, he always added comments to my notes that I couldn't possibly have known myself much less understood. 

One afternoon, when we returned to the office, Mr. Holmes told me to fire his driver for lying about going to Cuba. As I made the arrangements for new transportation, I realized that, though I was quick to most people, Mr.Holmes must have thought I was terribly slow. It was refreshing to actually learn from Mr.Holmes. Mr.Hawthorne needed me to sand his rough edges so things would run smoothly. Mr.Holmes needed me to keep up. 

I took a moment after the email was sent and began jotting down notes about everything that had happened since we got into the car on our way back. Felix was a bit tan, I suppose. Maybe his hair was lighter from the sun? I did ask how Felix's weekend was, and he said he was inside with his girlfriend. The girlfriend was definitely a lie. I hummed to myself until I got a text from Mr.Holmes that sent me back to work. 

Settling for being dim wasn't my idea of excitement, so I used Mr. Holmes's notes for practice to try and think more like him. I wasn't nearly as quick about it, but I had never been more in tune with my instincts when I stayed on alert and asked questions. How did Mr.Holmes know that the positioning of the OBE's tie meant he was having an affair with his intern? Why does a stain on a tie mean someone was on the tube, or a run in my stockings means I got a new dog? It helped that I'd begun reading the blog of Dr. John Watson, the flatmate and good friend of Mr. Holmes's younger brother, Sherlock Holmes. Apparently, this was called deduction, and it ran in the family. 

It turned out that  _ deduction _ wasn't all that different from anticipating his needs, which was always my goal as an assistant anyway. It was like a game with verbal and nonverbal cues, and the only way to win was to be as observant as I'd ever been. For instance, Mr. Holmes's footfalls became distinctive to me. When they were quick, he was feeling determined and good. Very steady meant someone was in trouble. Too slow and that someone was me. Luckily, that didn't happen too often. 

If Mr. Holmes was at work before me, he'd want coffee, but only the drip coffee I usually made for one. My eager-to-please gene made me give him my freshly brewed cup one afternoon when he unexpectedly requested one. He very much enjoyed it, and when I tried to provide him with a cup from the shops, he wouldn't have it. 

_ "Swill." _

_ "Pardon, Sir?"  _

_ "This is swill. Don't buy from there again." _

_ "Yes, Sir." _

But now, I could time it right and knew when to make two cups instead of one. If Mr. Holmes came to work after me or seemed a bit tired, tea was. There was a bit of milk and sugar that went into it. If he was there before me and already in the thick of things, the caffeine helped keep things running efficiently. It also helped to have a light breakfast just in case. I made little notes in my work journal to categorize his wardrobe- pinstripe suits or pattern ties vs. solid colors, that sort of thing. Several times I asked myself if I was nuts, but it would pay off.

"Are you stalking someone?" Angie asked, coming up behind me in the cafe with our drinks in hand. 

"No," I mumbled weakly and hid the notes with my hands. Angie Summers was the owner of the shelter I fostered from. After fostering my second dog, she asked if I wanted to come to a weekend event. Since then, we'd been good friends, which meant I knew when she was about to tease me.

"This is so intensive. Do you have a file on me?" Angie wiggled her eyebrows and sipped her sugary peach lemonade. 

"Not physically, but up here," I tapped my temple, "that's where your Christmas presents are." 

"Hell yes," she cheered. "Seriously, though, what is all this?" 

"It's for work. My boss is… Mr. Holmes is a genius. What's the point in having me if I can't keep up. If the person helping you is incompetent, you may as well do it yourself." I shrugged. 

"Okay, sure, but why are you writing down what he wears  _ every day _ ." 

"Shut up!" 

"Anyway, there's a dog in the shelter. A collie," Angie said. She knew that I was hesitant to commit to a pet full time, but still pushed for me to have companionship. "You'll love her." 

"I trust you," I agreed, not needing to hear much more. 

"Great. Now, could you stalk the guy who asked me out at the market yesterday?"

I got ready for work the next morning and was starting to think about Angie's comments. Maybe I was overdoing it a bit. I considered marking my notes "burn after reading" when my phone buzzed.

_ I will send a car for you. - MH _

A morning full of meetings was about to begin. At 8:30am sharp, I stepped onto the sidewalk outside of my house, and a sleek black town car pulled up. 

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," I greeted him, remaining cheery even when he gave me a look of only mild interest. 

"Good morning, Elise. Do you have everything you need?" He asked though I was beginning to think it was a formality. Even at my newest, I knew how to prepare for multiple scenarios at a time. 

"Of course, Sir." I handed him a portfolio as we zig-zagged our way through the London streets. 

"Our first meeting is with Lucille Dawson. She holds tide changing amounts of stock in the companies of two megalomaniacs on our radar," Mr. Holmes said, again a formality. 

"Everest Incorporated and Montague Steel Company." I nodded while opening up my padfolio. "Would you like my white paper on it?" 

I knew just about everything I could about Lucille Dawson. She was very particular, hard to compromise with, and one of the most influential (and filthy rich) socialites in the country. These are the kinds of people Mr.Holmes met. The more significant and difficult the government problem, the more likely Mr. Holmes would think out of the box and reach out to his unique network. I didn't look up from my papers, not expecting him to take it. 

"No," he declined like usual. I let my eyes flick up to meet his, but they stopped at his tie. Mr. Holmes was wearing a light gray wool suit. Since sneakily changing his tailor from the curmudgeon set in his ways to a local tailor with impeccable attention to detail, Mr. Holmes's suits fit much better. He actually looked rather handsome that day, but that didn't steer away from the glaringly obvious problem with the whole thing. 

"Sir." 

"Yes, Elise." Mr. Holmes looked up, giving me his full attention, which I loved. I carved my words to be as purposeful as his always were. 

"For your meeting with Mrs. Dawson, it would be helpful to change to a red tie. She prefers that color on you," I told him. Mrs. Dawson commented about gingers wearing red a few years before in a British Vogue interview. Recently, she responded well to it in our other meetings (meaning, she gave him an extra biscuit with his tea).

"Is that so?" Mr. Holmes looked me over then looked down at his gray tie, which was a bit too skinny for the look anyhow if I were honest. "Well, perhaps we'll stop at my usual place." 

"No need, Sir. I have options for you," I said. I tried not to smile so much at the somewhat impressed look on his face as I grabbed my purse. Who knew when Mr. Holmes would need an excellent red, blue, or black-tie from his favorite haberdashery? I was too excited to pull the little travel case out, and Mr. Holmes could tell. God, it may as well have been a kind of foreplay. He raised an eyebrow at me, but I took the flicker of amusement in his eyes as a good sign. 

I can't give sole credit for Mrs. Dawson's jovial mood to the tie change, but she was the most easy-going she'd been in the year that I'd known her. She volunteered a bit more information about just how far her influence spread, something that Mr. Holmes needed confirmation on. More importantly, Mrs. Dawson said she liked my scarf and called me a pretty woman. I tried not to fangirl about her, but she was eccentric in the most wonderful way and very cool. I would be telling Angie about this ASAP. 

"I hope you took good notes," Mr.Holmes said when we got back to the car. 

"I did, Sir. The comment about my earrings will just have to wait for my diary," I said. By God's grace, he enjoyed my uncontrollable sarcasm.

"Make a note that Mrs.Dawson's son was in Monaco this past weekend," Mr. Holmes told me. 

"With the pool boy, Sir. Already noted." 

Back at the office, I thought about ways to treat myself for earning two looks of surprise in one day. Pancakes for dinner? A movie with a whole bucket of popcorn to myself? Maybe I'd actually go to a club with Angie. In my lapse of alertness, a whirlwind of a person flew by my desk, snatching my portfolio along the way. I tried to follow quickly, but he was already causing Mr. Holmes duress when I entered.

"Mycroft, you should really consider having security," said the man I recognized as Sherlock Holmes. I opened my mouth to apologize, but Mr. Holmes stopped me. 

"No need to apologize, Miss Addison. My brother is a special case," he said as he glared at his kin. 

"All I needed was notes from your council meeting, and your new one had them right there on her desk. Really, Mycroft, I," he stopped mid-sentence. Sherlock flipped through my notes while Mr. Holmes and I waited in anticipation. The younger Holmes finally stopped and looked me over. "Clever girl." 

It wasn't that I didn't think I was smart, but a Holmes calling me intelligent? Well, that just left me with a silly grin as I took back my notes and went back to work. Their voices carried through the wooden door, each of them teasing each other with a viscousness that could only exist between people who'd grown up together. I had to hide my laugh at Sherlock, calling Mr. Holmes a drama queen, a title they both shared when the door swung open. 

"Miss Addison, was it?" Sherlock came up to my desk. It was interesting to watch the younger Holmes use deduction. I could practically see the conclusions swirling around him as they were made and the gears turning under his curly brown hair. Mr. Holmes, on the other hand, seemed to have deduction as a sixth sense. I wondered if he could even teach something like that, or if he'd categorize it as something that 'just happens' second to second.

"Yes, Elise Addison," I confirmed and held out my hand. Instead of a shake, Sherlock pressed a business card into it.

"Just a phone call away if you want to gossip about my brother," he said, and just as he came, Sherlock was off. I watched Sherlock until Mr. Holmes cleared his throat, making me stand at attention as he made his way to me. 

"Sir?" I was advised to hand him my notes. I took a mental picture of what surprise looked like on him for the third time that day.

"You've encrypted your shorthand," he said. It wasn't a question; it was categorical. 

"Yes, Sir. I rotate between three systems based on the level of security. They're color-coded. I made them on my own, but I can explain them." I had to stop myself from babbling. This was the thing I was best at, and if he didn't like it, I would be dejected, to say the least. But eventually, he generously gave me a smirk. 

"Clever woman," Mr. Holmes repeated his brother's sentiment and handed back my notes. He turned to go back to his office but looked back before passing the threshold. His eyes were on the card I was still holding. "What did you think of my brother, Miss Addison?" 

I paused in thought then looked down at the card again. Memories of Anthea's warnings about the sibling relationship and the complement paid by the detective brought me to my conclusion. 

"His business card is quite awful, Sir. We could send him nicer ones for a birthday gift, perhaps. Quality paper and ink." 

I tried to remember if I'd ever been more shocked by a smile and a brief chuckle before. 

I hadn't. 

I may as well have danced my way home. I felt weightless in my spot on cloud 9. 

"You're glowing," Mari mused when she stopped me in the hall. 

"I can feel it in my bones, Mari," I told her, then kissed her cheek. 

"I made bread again, I'll leave some for you," she called as I floated into my apartment. 

The reward of the night would be a lovely dinner at the Greek restaurant down a few streets over. I changed into a date outfit and freshened up, utterly excited to treat myself. I was patting on a red lipstick when my phone rang.

"Hello, hello," I answered cheerily. 

"Perfect, you in a good mood, sis?" Andrew's voice came through the phone. I watched my face fall in the mirror with a sigh. 

"What do you want, Andrew? Or should I call you,  _ bro _ ?" I chided the faux chummy nickname he gave me. 

_ "You  _ could _ start calling me Drew like everyone else. But whatever. What's up?"  _

"Just how much?" I got straight to the point. I wanted to get to the restaurant by 8pm and any time wasted would infringe on that. He paused, and I sighed once again. "Look,  _ Drew,  _ I have plans tonight, so if you need money, just tell me. If not, can we chat later?"

_ "Yeah, you know what, fine. You always think I'm calling to ask for something, maybe I should just stop calling." _

"I only think that because, in the last five years, I can count on one hand the times you've called just to have a friendly chat about life. You know mum can't afford to give out money like that, so I'd rather you come to me than her anyway. Let's consider that a blessing. Now, come out with it," I told him. 

I listened to his story, lies with a sprinkling of truth to keep things lively. I couldn't help but laugh here and there. He was a good storyteller, but he wasn't  _ that _ good. 

"1200 pounds?! What on earth for?" I yelped, grabbing my bag and heading out. Andrew was my half brother, younger than me by eight years. My dad passed when I was four, and my mum remarried just a few years later. My stepfather Charles was difficult at his best, profoundly neglectful at his worst. But he left us when Andrew was sixteen and needed him most. I was already in university then, but it was rough coming home to pick up the pieces. Andrew and I were never able to get very close, but I wasn't going to let anyone suffer if I could help. 

"Weren't you listenin'?!" Andrew asked. Oh yeah, his fake story. I pinched the bridge of my nose. 

"Fine! Fine. Just, don't rush me, I'll send you some tomorrow. I have to go," I told him then quickly hung up. I used my walk towards the restaurant to try and pep myself up more. My phone buzzed, and I was ready to brush Andrew off again. Instead, it was the one thing that could make my night better. 

_ Good job today. Have an excellent night. - MH _

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you and I hope you enjoyed!


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